


these sneakers were made for loving

by confettitty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu-centric, Disney Movies, Explicit Language, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, WELL ACTUALLY THEYRE SNEAKERHEADS, and photographers, and then they take photos of their shit, atsumu panicking like five times, hot makeout sessions :D, no beta we die like men, osamu is there for support, rivals to friends to lovers ??, sakuatsu are influencers, tft things im sorry if u dont understand but i promise its not really important, theres a lot of shoe lingo im sorry ill try to explain, they also like to GAME lmaooo, yeah that, you know those ppl who spend a lot of money on brands like supreme and bape and nike shoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29496519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettitty/pseuds/confettitty
Summary: Atsumu had walked up to Sakusa at a meet, dressed head-to-toe in his best outfit. He had turned many heads on his way over—every article of clothing and accessory on him that day had been some of his most difficult scores, and he was sure Sakusa knew that, too. He had glimpsed at Atsumu, scoffed, then rolled his eyes."Impressive," Sakusa drawled out with defiance, and then he stuck his foot out, arms crossed over his chest. Atsumu recognized them immediately—Travis Scott Air Jordan 1s. In theMocha colourway.He felt the heat of his blood run through his veins. Those sneakers sold out faster than he could blink, but he he came prepared, too. He wouldn't go down without a fight.He spares them a glance lasting two seconds at most before dragging his eyes slowly back up to meet Sakusa's, chin lifted a little higher than what he was normally used to."You as well," Atsumu had responded flippantly, then stepped one foot forward. "Blank Canvases, featuring Childish Gambino."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	these sneakers were made for loving

**Author's Note:**

> some words to help!
> 
> cop - to manage to get: "i copped these shoes yesterday"  
> sneaker meet/trade - a convention where you can bring sneakers and trade with others  
> colourway - the colour combinations of sneaker models "triple white colourway, dark blue colourway, etc."  
> OBO - or best offer

“Ya know,” Osamu starts, “if ya got somethin’ to say to me, just say it.”

Well, as a matter of fact, Atsumu  _ does  _ have something to say. He just doesn’t know how to say it, so he opts for sliding his phone across the counter to where his brother is currently cooling his sushi rice along the sides of his mixing bowl. His movements pause as he squints down at the Instagram page.

“The hell am I supposed t’be lookin’ at?”

Atsumu groans out in frustration, fingers pushing up into his hair. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“... And?”

“Look at his recent post! Silver Bullets! The OG’s! How did he get ‘em before  _ I  _ did?”

Osamu gives him the most deadpan stare, and Atsumu can’t exactly blame him because he isn’t as caught up in the sneaker and fashion world as Atsumu is. Well, correction —Atsumu is the living embodiment of streetwear, Instagram account sitting at 254K followers, which is an extremely amazing feat, by his definition. He spent  _ years  _ growing this account. People have even started to recognize him on the streets ever since he started posting pictures with his face in them! And if that isn’t enough, he  _ constantly  _ turns heads, whether it be for his looks or his  _ actual  _ look. Either way, he isn’t complaining.

“Yer not the only wannabe influencer,” is what Osamu settles on, using his elbow to push the phone back. It slides only a little, so Atsumu has to lean his abdomen into the edge of the counter to reach for it.

“I’m not a  _ wannabe influencer,  _ I introduce publicity to an art form that deserves more attention,” he argues defensively, lower lip plump in a pout.

He hears a snort, and then, “And by art form, you mean big clothes with small logos goin’ for sixty thousand yen? Nobody wants to spend their money on  _ Supreme  _ or whatever.”

Atsumu shoots upright. “Okay, first of all,  _ Supreme  _ is dying down slowly, and second—that’s not all there is to streetwear,  _ idiot. _ Can we go back to talking about how Omi-kun is catching up in followers now?”

Osamu stops moving. Atsumu glances up from his phone to meet his brother’s eyes, squinting at him with suspicion.

_ Oh. _

“Since when did Sakusa-san become ‘Omi-kun’?”

Atsumu clears his throat, eyes diverted, and answers as casually as possible. “Well, I dunno, like, we see each other  _ sometimes.” _

“So, what? You’re friends?”

“We aren’t  _ friends.” _

“Then what? Ya like him or somethin’?”

Atsumu scoffs out a laugh, draws it out for as long as possible without making it suspicious.  _ “No,  _ course not.” Well, he doesn't like him like _that,_ he thinks (he's not sure). He doesn’t know why he bothers because Osamu can always read past his falsities, even when Atsumu himself has no clue on those matters, but it doesn’t stop him from flipping up his middle finger as he slides off the barstool and grabs for his car keys.

His phone vibrates with an audible  _ ding  _ just as he’s about to leave, and he hears Osamu call out from behind him, “Who’s that?  _ Omi-kun?” _ and laughs like the asshole he knows he is. Atsumu bites the insides of his cheeks and leaves without another look back, eyes lasering holes into his steering wheel as he waits for it to warm up a little more despite having started the engine ten minutes ago. He huffs out a small wispy cloud and slides his phone out of his jacket pocket—the North Face and Supreme collaboration that he had managed to nick for just under 160, 000 yen four winters ago, back when he still had to work part-time jobs during university to be able to afford all of these things.

He feels a flush rise to his face and blames it on the cold, even though he’s been sitting in here for three minutes now, when he sees the name flash across the screen of his phone after raising it to his face.

From: Omi-kun

[16:05] Are you going to the meet this Saturday?

To: Omi-kun

[16:08] yea ill be there

[16:08] wbu

What he had told Osamu back in his shop wasn’t a  _ complete  _ truth. He doesn’t  _ hate  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi, at least, not anymore. He can't even be sure he really did dislike him ever. They always had some sort of a thing going on, where one of them was trying to out-do the other, but it changed somewhere along the way. Atsumu hasn't spent much time thinking about what they are.

The first time he had met him was at a sneaker trade last year, and it wasn't a very long encounter, but they did run into each other wearing the same Nike Lebron 7s, in the exact same model. Those were definitely not easy to get, and Atsumu had gotten them for their retail price. He had considered reselling them, but he ended up loving them so much he couldn’t, so one can understand why he felt his ego deflate just a tiny, little bit when he saw another boy with the same sneakers within the same facility.

Now, normally, Atsumu would have given a compliment. The sneaker community is nice and welcoming and inclusive, but Sakusa had given him  _ attitude  _ that day, with dark eyes and a painfully slow up-and-down, as though he was judging Atsumu for the way he was dressed.

“What?” Atsumu had asked, a little snappier than usual. He had noted the black  _ Palace  _ shell top jacket,  _ yes,  _ the one with the glow-in-the-dark elements, and the all-black  _ Supreme  _ fanny pack crossing his torso, the same one Atsumu has but in bright red.

Sakusa had looked away to scout out the details of a pair of Air Jordan 13s. “I didn’t say anything.”

Atsumu’s blood had boiled, fists clenching by his sides. “Yeah, but why were ya  _ lookin’  _ at me like that.”

“Like what?” Sakusa turned to face him, met his gaze, then dragged his eyes down to his shoes before flicking them back up. There was a curve of a smirk on his face, as though he was challenging Atsumu. “Like that?”

He remembers the sudden embarrassment that had washed over him when Sakusa had given him that look. He also still, to this day, refuses to believe he had blushed, despite what he had been told a couple weeks ago, when he and Sakusa met for a quick bite before going downtown to shoot a few pictures.

“Are you new?” Atsumu asked, thinking he was doing a pretty decent job at not letting his curiosity show through. “Don’t think I’ve seen ya around here before.”

“It’s my first meet in Tokyo. Why are you so curious?”

Atsumu’s mouth had fallen open and closed twice, a little caught off guard by the question. “I’m not  _ curious,”  _ he defended, “I was just askin’.”

“That’s the same thing. Don’t you have friends to get back to?”

And yeah, Atsumu did, but he found himself oddly drawn to this mysterious man whose name he didn’t even know at the time. He glanced around, caught Bokuto and Hinata behind the movement of passing faces and bodies and pretended he didn’t.

“I dunno where they are. Why aren’t  _ you  _ with friends?”

Their eyes met for the second time then, and Atsumu had felt the need to straighten his posture and square his shoulders out a little. He saw the faint pink dusting across his cheeks before he could turn away.

“I don’t have any here.”

Atsumu’s brows furrowed. “Here?”

“They’re in Canada.”

“You’re  _ Canadian?” _ Atsumu asked with a gawk.

Sakusa had laughed, a sound so terrifyingly melodious to Atsumu’s ears he had thought he imagined it. He knows, obviously, that he didn’t, because just two days ago he had received a call from Sakusa, who laughed into his phone after telling Atsumu he had a public dispute with someone earlier that day because he had called them out on their fake. rip-off Yeezys.

“I was only there for university,” he finally told Atsumu, a smile still stretched across his face. Atsumu felt so blinded. How could someone look like that?

“Didja get yer shoes here? In Japan?”

“Yes. They were difficult to get.”

Well, Atsumu obviously knew that. He was wearing the exact same pair on his own two feet. He glanced down to the floor, dug his heel a little into the ground, and looked back up. There was a sort of tension there—he had a good feeling Sakusa didn’t really like the idea of someone else wearing the same shoes as him, either.

Their first meeting didn’t bring much, only if Atsumu disregarded the pounding in his heart and the following days that were full of thoughts of Sakusa Kiyoomi, whose name he had learned just before they departed. Without any information of his socials, Atsumu had wondered if he’d ever see him again. Instagram’s searches didn’t bring up any results, and neither did Facebook’s “Tokyo Sneakerhead and Hypebeast Market”.

But then they’d meet again, two weeks later, at another sneaker trade. Then the next one, and the one after that one, too. At some point they had built up some sort of a rivalry, where Atsumu would tweet out a picture of his brand new shoes with something like  _ hey @sakusa_kx check out what i just copped _ along the top with an excessive amount of fire emojis following. Sakusa would always follow up a few days later with someone similar, minus the emojis.

There was that time when Atsumu had walked up to Sakusa at a meet, dressed head-to-toe in his best outfit. He had turned many heads on his way over—every article of clothing and accessory on him that day had been some of his most difficult scores, and he was sure Sakusa knew that, too. He had glimpsed at Atsumu, scoffed, then rolled his eyes.

"Impressive," Sakusa drawled out with defiance, and then he stuck his foot out, arms crossed over his chest. Atsumu recognized them immediately—Travis Scott Air Jordan 1s. In the Mocha colourway. He felt the heat of his blood run through his veins. Those sneakers sold out faster than he could blink, but he he came prepared, too. He wouldn't go down without a fight.

He spares them a glance lasting two seconds at most before dragging his eyes slowly back up to meet Sakusa's, chin lifted a little higher than what he was normally used to.

"You as well," Atsumu had responded flippantly, then stepped one foot forward. "Blank Canvases, featuring Childish Gambino."

It’s like that for a while: the both of them trying to one-up each other constantly. They eventually started direct messaging each other on Twitter instead. Atsumu watched both Sakusa’s Instagram and Twitter climb in following with every new post he put out there. Admittedly, Sakusa’s photography skills were up to the mark; they rivalled Atsumu’s, but that was something he decided to keep to himself, even now.

Atsumu taps his fingers along the leather of his steering wheel as he drives, and remembers how Sakusa, two months after meeting, had asked him to pose as his model. Atsumu had driven his car to their meeting spot, parked it somewhere under the bridge, and rolled his front wheels hard to the right before getting out.

They talked about it briefly, but Sakusa guided him to the front of his car, told him to crouch with the  _ BAPE  _ logo on the back of his hoodie lit up by his car’s headlights. They got a close-up shot there, and then a few others elsewhere. He recalls the caption to the images when Sakusa finally posts it to his Instagram:  _ I suppose Miya works as a model substitute. _

And there was an emoji—the laughing-crying one. Atsumu  _ knew  _ Sakusa found little humour in that statement, but he still responded in the comments:  _ im the best model u will EVER have. _

There was a sort of fire that stayed ignited in both of them. They challenged each other with a subtlety known only to them, but whatever friendship had formed along the way, neither of them were really conscious of, at least not enough to really talk about it. They just kind of let things happen. What used to be little taunts and sneers via messages and during sneaker meets grew into something that often ended with them finding themselves in a popular boba chain shop or at a table with a tower of beer and baskets of popcorn fried-chicken and Korean-style wings. Sakusa would always eat the former, saying something about how they’re “easier to eat”, while Atsumu liked to get his hands down on things.

Somewhere along the way, Atsumu thinks his feelings might have developed into something more than just wanting to meet up every once in a while for food, boba, or shoots, but it’s only a thought. He doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t exactly want to think about it, but Osamu did shove that idea right into his face, so he takes a hot a shower and runs his hands over his face under the spray in hopes it gets it out of his head.

From past experiences, Atsumu has learned that the more he thinks about things, the more they tend to eat away at him. It’s like that time he thought this one girl liked him, but he really just misread her intentions terribly and made a fool out of himself on White Day after thinking about it for so long he tricked himself into thinking  _ he  _ had a crush on  _ her _ —and he really doesn’t want to do that again.

He doesn’t check his phone until he’s lounging in his gaming chair, The Chainsmokers’ new song filtering through his PC speakers quietly.

From: Omi-kun

[16:48] I’ll be there on Saturday. Do you want me to give you a ride?

Atsumu’s tongue traces over a spot on his lower lip, curled into a giddy smile as he runs his thumbs across his phone.

To: Omi-kun

[17:10] only if u wanna give me one ;)

[17:10] wyd tmr tho

From: Omi-kun

[17:11] I can stop by on my way. Why the winky face? Lol

To: Omi-kun

[17:11] idk lmao i just felt like it

From: Omi-kun

[17:11] And I’m not doing anything tomorrow, why?

To: Omi-kun

[17:11] ok ok hear me out

[17:12] air max kiss of deaths drop tmr

[17:12] ive been wanting them since literally official images were released

From: Omi-kun

[17:12] Are you serious? Those are almost going to be impossible to get. You might just have to look from resellers, but even then it’s still probably going to go fast.

To: Omi-kun

[17:12] ugh pls i want them so badly will u help me

[17:12] i will literally pay u

[17:12] with dinner and a hug

[17:13] but if u prefer a high five i can arrange for that to happen

From: Omi-kun

[17:13] Fine, but don’t be upset if we can’t get them at retail price. Find resellers.

To: Omi-kun

[17:13] OMI KUN UR THE BEST ILY

[17:13] also hop on the cord for some tft

[17:13] gonna beat u this time

From: Omi-kun

[17:13] You can try. Lol

“You suck,” is the first thing Atsumu says as he joins Sakusa in a private Discord call, bummed out after the other had snatched the item he wanted from the carousel away. He hears breathy laughter from Sakusa’s end, then drops his champion on his board.

“Maybe you need to work on improving your CPS.”

Atsumu readjusts his headset mic with a scoff. “My CPS is fine. You literally blocked me from moving.”

“That’s not how it works, Atsumu.”

“Whatever,” he says petulantly. He gets a chosen Yasuo right off the bat and tells Sakusa he’s going to lose this round, although he knows the chances are pretty slim. TFT is a game that requires a skill he knows he has but is still lacking in comparison to Sakusa’s—he’s  _ absurdly  _ good at the game. He swears every time they play together, he has always gotten first place. When they first started playing and Atsumu had come to realize that Sakusa might be  _ too  _ good at it, he called him out on cheating.

Sakusa had scoffed, and the next time they got together at Atsumu’s place after a couple hours of shooting in the cold together, he had played two rounds on his PC and won both of them, just for Atsumu to witness behind all his glorious wins.

Atsumu has not ever beat him, only sometimes coming in second place if he got lucky with his team composition. They’re deep into the game when Atsumu beats nearly ten points off Sakusa’s remaining health bar.

“See? Yer gonna lose.”

“I still have items,” Sakusa is quick to respond, and Atsumu can  _ so  _ clearly hear the smirk behind his words, “and I get priority carousel pick.”

True to his words, Sakusa ends up picking the  _ one  _ item Atsumu desperately needs. “I really, really hate you,” he growls into his mic, clicking aggressively on his mouse.

“Hm, I’m sure you do.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Nothing. Don’t lose to that other guy.”

Atsumu frowns, reorganizes his board after dropping a champion and putting another in. “Like hell I will. First place is  _ mine,  _ Omi!”

Well—he doesn’t win, but he isn’t exactly surprised anymore. He still pouts through his words when he blurts out, “Again! I’ll beat you this time!”

Night falls and Osamu comes home, unnecessarily loudly with a muffled curse slipping, so Atsumu calls it a night with Sakusa, but not before reminding him about getting up “ _ bright and early tomorrow morning, Omi!” _

He comes out of his bedroom to check on Osamu, who’s in the middle of hauling four grocery bags hanging from his bent forearms, and grabs the last two by the genkan. “The hell didja buy? Food to feed four families?”

Osamu snorts, then, “Hey— _ careful, _ dumbass, there’re eggs in there. I’m meal preppin’ some stuff for ma, since I’m meetin’ up with her this weekend. Wanna help?”

“Sure,” Atsumu responds easily, digging out a ice bar from the bag and sticking it in his mouth. Osamu gives him a judgmental look, not that it reaches Atsumu considering how they’re always bantering over the smallest stuff, and lays everything out on the kitchen counter.

They’re quiet for a while as whatever song from Osamu’s old school hip-hop playlist sings in the background until his brother breaks it with a question, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

“Sakusa,” Atsumu mumbles, hands working into the dough they’ll use for their steamed meat buns.

“Y’can just call him Omi-kun if you wanna, I don’t care,” Osamu replies casually. In the way Osamu can tell Atsumu is lying, Atsumu can tell when Osamu is, too, and he isn’t lying when he says that, but he can tell he’s definitely wanting to know more. He can’t blame him though—Atsumu’s love life has always been a little messy. He knew about Sakusa, only because Atsumu brought him up occasionally in the beginning, but he did start to talk about him less and less as their relationship—friendship—grew. He has the right to be curious, and Atsumu appreciates he isn’t being annoying when he’s trying to pry.

“Fine,” Atsumu gives in, “I was playing some TFT with him.”

Osamu frowns. “I’m not tryna put ideas into yer head, ‘Tsumu, but I seriously thought ya hated him.”

“Okay,” Atsumu starts, clearly defensive, “I don’t  _ hate _ him. We’re… like, we’re friends. I think. It started off like—I dunno, we were kinda just competin’ with each other, but we got closer along the way. I dunno.” He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. “Sounds so weird when I say it out loud. Do people actually talk about their feelings?”

It’s that look again, the one Osamu gives him every time Atsumu says something stupid, but he doesn’t  _ think  _ he said something stupid, right? He’s not good at talking about his emotions, and, well, he’s pretty sure  _ most  _ people aren’t good at it. It’s hard to believe his own  _ brother  _ is lecturing him about not bottling things inside.

Except he’s not even bottling anything up.

Is he?

“Of course people talk about their feelings. Listen, I ain’t sayin it’s easy, but ya gotta try, right? Stop pretendin’ like you guys aren’t friends. There’s nothing wrong with friends.”

And, yeah, maybe there  _ is  _ nothing wrong with friends, but the word still sounds foreign to his ears and sure as hell tastes a little odd when he whispers it into his pillow that night.

His alarm goes off ten minutes before seven in the morning, and Atsumu shoots upright, gaming chair sliding across the mat as he tugs himself closer to his desk. Sakusa’s got to be awake by now, right? Seven is usually early for Atsumu if he isn’t waiting for a drop, but Sakusa always seems to be the one to get a headstart in their chats, so seven for him must be a normal thing.

Sure enough, his phone’s text ring goes off a few minutes before the drop.

From: Omi-kun

[6:56] Good morning. I hope you’re awake, because I am going to murder you if you made me get up half an hour earlier this morning if you’re not even ready. Lol

To: Omi-kun

[6:56] wtf of course im awake ive been waiting for this for so long

[6:56] also just because u add lol to the end of everything does not make it funny

From: Omi-kun

[6:57] Okay, lol

He’s got about ten different tabs open across his two monitors. He’s got this, right? He’s never been this prepared for a drop before. Those Air Maxes are  _ his. _ He’s refreshing the main page of his usual retailer by the time there’s a minute left. He watches the screen go white and then load, over and over again. Any second now, and it’ll be here.

He autofills his information so fast he hardly registers the text message he gets. He waits as it processes his payment, teeth sinking into his lower lip in anticipation. His heart stops when an error message pops up.

“What the fuck?” he whispers to himself, confused. He refreshes the page and waits for it to load, but it doesn’t come because the error message comes again. He huffs out a breath in disbelief, glances at the time—7:02—and switches to another site.

Sakusa is calling him now. He blindly reaches for his phone as he presses the “Make Payment” button at the bottom of the screen, and slides his index across before raising it up to his ears, sandwiching it with a lifted shoulder.

“Hello?” he asks, but doesn’t give Sakusa time to respond because he’s already blurting out, “ Nike crashed. I’m checking Mita right now—dude, what?  _ They’re sold out of my size?” _ His volume increases, disappointment evident in his voice and seeping through every syllable of his words. He doesn’t even try to hide it. He had been really looking forward to these.

“I’m sorry, Atsumu. I checked other sites. I figured you’d be checking Nike first. They sold out really fast there too.”

Atsumu doesn’t reply, trying to go through the rest of his tabs to see if they’re also all actually sold out, and he's crestfallen to find that they are.

“Atsumu?” he hears Sakusa speak from the other end of the line. Atsumu slumps back into his seat. “Atsumu, it’s fine. There are resellers.”

See, that’s normally fine, but the reason why Atsumu doesn’t consider buying it off a reseller for the first time is because—well, he’s a little tight on money right now. Him and his brother have been considering getting their mom a place up in Tokyo so she can visit when she wants to, and they have each set aside a large amount of money for that.

Sakusa tries, “Are you doing anything today?”

“No,” comes Atsumu’s response.

“Me neither. Do you want to do something?”

Atsumu’s tired, but he doesn’t turn down Sakusa’s offer; he should probably try to get out and find something that’ll distract him, and he’d really rather do that with someone else than all alone. Sakusa tells him he’ll be here in thirty minutes, so Atsumu has time to get ready to look somewhat decent, although he doesn’t really feel too hot right now. He brews a cup of coffee, hair slightly damp from his shower still, and sips at it while trying to figure out what to wear today.

Sakusa doesn’t comment on how Atsumu absolutely goes ham on his outfit when he slides into the passenger seat of his car, fully decked out in full  _ Off-White  _ wear, white enough to match fresh snowfall. He plays with his yellow belt as Sakusa drives. He doesn’t even ask where they’re headed, but he assumes it’s some breakfast place since he had responded, “No,” when Sakusa asked if he had eaten yet.

He sees the glare of Sakusa’s Silver Bullets. “Hey, when’d ya get those Air Maxes? Last restock?”

Sakusa takes a very brief glance at him. “No, I got lucky and found a reseller. He asked for OBO, so I fought pretty hard for them. It’s almost in mint condition. Got the box, too.”

Atsumu slumps further back into his seat, thankful for the way his legs and back are cozy with the seat warmers. “I’m sad,” he says, only because he has nothing else to say, and also just in case Sakusa doesn’t already know.

“I know.” Atsumu watches, a little absentminded, at how Sakusa reaches between them to adjust the car temperature, and then goes to disconnect his phone. “You can play something, if you’d like.”

They pull into the small parking lot behind the breakfast place while listening to Atsumu’s playlist on their way there. He knows Sakusa isn’t a big fan of house, but Sakusa  _ did  _ tell him he could play something, so he must have known Atsumu would play  _ anything. _

“Where are we?” he asks as they step inside. He takes note of Sakusa’s all black outfit, a complete contrast to his, and is reminded again of the first time they had met.

“I don’t know,” Sakusa admits, following the hostess to a small table. He takes the seat closest to the window and scans the rest of the floor. “I saw it on Instagram this morning.”

“It’s… busy.” Atsumu flashes a quick grin that doesn’t exactly reach his eyes at a table of three girls next to them. It seems to be a pretty popular place, décor matching the interior in a new, modern, and terribly minimalistic way. It’s not bad, probably a nice spot for photos, but Atsumu isn’t really in the mood to take many right now.

They order their drinks and food immediately, and after the menus have been taken away, Atsumu slumps forward on one arm, cheek pressed to his bicep. He lets out a sigh long enough to catch the way Sakusa’s eyebrow twitches.

“I found a reseller,” Sakusa speaks up after a while.

Atsumu shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I can’t right now. ‘Samu and I just put aside a ton of money for ma. It’s okay,” he says, then sucks in a huge breath through his nose and sits back upright, a smile forced on his face. “I’ll be fine, I think.”

He reassures himself by talking about the new  _ READYMADE  _ and  _ Nike  _ Blazer Mids set to release at DSM Ginza on the twenty-seventh. Sakusa sips at his tea, grinning behind the lip of his cup.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really into the orange when I first saw it,” he comments.

Atsumu’s jaw drops. “What? No way—they’re sexy as  _ hell.  _ Orange accents are  _ nice _ on shoes, ya know?”

“I’ve seen better.”

They bicker over that, conversation turning towards some of the older sneakers by the time their food is brought out. Sakusa asks him, through a mumble, to wait as he snaps a picture for his Instagram story. Atsumu is pretty sure part of him is in there somewhere, but he doesn’t want to confirm right now, not when his breakfast waffle sandwich with eggs and bacon is staring at him like it wants him to devour it.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket just as Sakusa sets his down, but he doesn’t bother checking, moaning around a mouthful of his food. He swallows his first bite. “Oh my  _ god,  _ Omi, this is so fuckin’  _ good.” _

Sakusa drags his spoon along the top of his smoothie bowl. “Yeah?”

“Yeah—here, you wanna bite?” He cuts off a chunky part of his sandwich, makes sure there's a decent balance of egg, bacon, and waffle in there, and lifts his fork between them, his other hand cupped underneath in case something drops. Sakusa gives him a look, and it takes a couple seconds with Atsumu’s urging gestures, mouth wide and muttering  _ ah, ahhh,  _ for Sakusa to finally give in.

“See?” Atsumu asks, watching Sakusa chew it down, a hand over his mouth. “Good, right?”

There’s a flush resting on Sakusa’s cheeks. Atsumu also notes how the tips of his ears turn pink, and he doesn’t know why it makes him feel slightly flustered himself, but he doesn’t think too much about it.

“I believed you regardless,” Sakusa mumbles, spoon folding his blueberries and nut mix into the smoothie.

“Well, I’m still gladja got a bite, ‘cause I’m ‘boutta finish all of it.”

He momentarily forgets about the Kiss of Deaths causing all of his misery this morning. When it does finally settle back in, he’s in the washroom and, mid-pee, he realizes it’s not that bad anymore. There are going to be lots of shoes coming out in the future and—who knows?—they might possibly restock it again, although it probably won’t be for a really long time.

He reaches into his pocket to check what the notification from earlier was after drying his hands off, and then finds himself a little surprised to see himself tagged in Sakusa’s Instagram story post. Atsumu is only visible from his waist down in the angle it was taken in, more to get their food if anything, but he’s still tagged nonetheless. Two friends, on an early breakfast outing, by themselves. It’s pretty normal if you ask anyone, but Atsumu still feels his heart do acrobatics in his chest.

Osamu’s words come hitting him full force.

“Oh god,” Atsumu whispers breathlessly, footsteps coming to a halt in the hallway outside the washrooms, “do I like him?”

He dives right back into the washroom to call Osamu.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up— _ ’Samu!” _

He hears shuffling from the other end and then a groan. Osamu sure sounds like he’s thirty years old and a dad when he does that. “Whaddaya want?” he asks, and Atsumu completely ignores how annoyed and sleepy he sounds.

“I think I like him,” he blurts out, no longer able to hold it in. A weight on his shoulders lifts almost immediately, and it’s  _ terrifying. _

“Okay? You gonna tell him or…?”

“What?” Atsumu screeches out, flabbergasted. “No! I can’t do that!”

He hears his brother sigh heavily through the phone. “Do what you want.”

“Wait! ‘Samu, ‘Samu, okay, wait, wait— _ should _ I tell him? Do you  _ think  _ I should? What if I’m just—doin’ that thing again. You know, that thing where I—”

“Yes,” Osamu cuts him off, “I know what  _ thing  _ you do. Why don’t you just, I dunno, take some time and think about it a bit. Don’t think too hard, ‘cause yer just gonna drive yerself down a hole, but lay it out flat, y’know?”

He’s right. Yeah, Atsumu can do that—it doesn’t sound too hard. But, “I just… would really hate to ruin whatever we got goin’ on, you know? I know we started off on the wrong foot and stuff, but things have gotten real… nice between us. Did you see his Instagram story? He tagged me in his—”

_ “No,  _ I haven’t seen his Instagram story. I  _ might’ve  _ in three hours when I actually  _ wanna  _ wake up, but now I don’t wanna.”

“‘Kay, fine, whatever. I’ll think about it. Sorry, go back to bed.”

He hears Osamu grumble out, “I’mma try,” right before he hangs up.

Okay, it’s fine. Just act normal. He’ll think about it when he gets home after breakfast. His knees feel a little wobbly, mind a little fuzzy, when he makes his way back to the table. Sakusa glances up at him through his phone, Louis Vuitton face mask strapped to his face.

“Took you a while,” he comments.

Atsumu gives out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, had to take a dookie.”

Sakusa’s face scrunches up with what Atsumu assumes is disgust as he gets out of his seat. “You didn’t have to tell me that, Atsumu.”

He sticks his tongue out jokingly, then buries his chin into his hoodie, preparing but never fully prepared to head back out into the cold. They sit in Sakusa’s car shivering for ten minutes as they wait for it to warm up.

“Your seat warmers are actually godsend,” Atsumu speaks through white puffs of breaths and shaking shoulders. He leans further back into the backrest and crosses one leg over the other to try to keep his thighs warm.

“You’re exaggerating,” Sakusa mumbles while sliding his fingers into his driving gloves. Atsumu is so glad he isn’t the one driving right now. He doesn’t have driving gloves but the amount of times he has driven with his bare hands on cold leather has made him actually consider getting driving gloves too.

He slinks further into his clothes, then pulls the strap of his seatbelt over his body. “Where are ya gonna take me now?”  _ Home? So I can think about my big, fat crush on you? _ He almost says it—bites his teeth so he doesn’t actually.

Sakusa hums. “You look tired. Do you want to go home?”

“Huh?” Atsumu squeaks and sits up a little straighter. He’s not tired—sure, he  _ was  _ considering going home, but the look on Sakusa’s face when their eyes meet across the little room in Sakusa’s ghost-grey Subaru makes him swallow down whatever he had planned to say. “No—no, I’m good. I’m fine—not tired, really. We can do anything. Watch a movie, maybe?”

The engine revs, and Sakusa pulls out of the parking spot. To his surprise, Atsumu finds themselves going in the direction of Sakusa’s apartment and not a movie theatre. Well, it  _ is  _ a little too early for movie theatres to be playing anything. Atsumu hadn’t thought about that, so he stops himself before he can ask and cause whatever embarrassment will follow.

In the many months that Atsumu has familiarized himself with Sakusa, he has only been over to his place four times. Sakusa would come over to Atsumu’s more often than likewise, and only when Osamu was working, so he never thought too much about it. They see each other all the time, it’s kind of surprising in hindsight.

They’re friends, though it still sounds a little disappointing in his mind.

“I can hear you thinking,” Sakusa says, voice cutting through the silence. “What is it?”

Atsumu tears his gaze away from the window, astonished. “Wha—I’m not thinkin’ about anything.”

“If you say so.”

The rest of the ride is silent but not awkward. The elevator ride up to Sakusa’s apartment is where the tension starts to settle, at least for Atsumu. He doesn’t know what Sakusa is feeling—nothing, probably—but he tries his best to relax in case the other notices.  It’s better when they actually get inside, warm despite how spacious it is. It’s much bigger than what Atsumu has. He remembers his first time coming over and accidentally blurting out, “Are you dating a rich girl?” the moment he had seen the apartment complex.

Sakusa’s expression had turned quizzical, then he laughed. “Of course not. I’m not dating anyone.”

Atsumu makes a dive for the large, L-shaped couch in Sakusa’s living room, and shoves his face in his favourite pillow—the white, fluffy one, big enough for his fingers to just barely hook around each other when he hugs it around his chest.

“What should we watch?” Atsumu calls out with his neck craned back. He can’t see Sakusa from where he lays on his stomach, the back of the couch blocking most of his vision. “A horror movie? Ya like horror, don’tcha? Yer into some real freaky shit.”

Atsumu gets a pillow to the back of his head.

“Don’t say it like that,” Sakusa hisses as he makes his way around the couch to plop down by the ends of Atsumu’s feet. Atsumu laughs and turns onto his back, face to the smart TV as it lights up. “I was thinking we could watch something… easier to digest.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Disney?”

Atsumu sits up with a gasp. “What about Moana?”

They put on Moana. Atsumu thinks he’s cried every time watching this movie. There are some scenes that just seriously tugs at his heartstrings, and he can’t  _ not.  _ He sniffles a little, pillow hugged to his chest as he peeks over the fluff, eyes watering just slightly.

He doesn’t even notice how Sakusa turns to look at him; doesn’t notice the way his gaze lingers. He lets out a soft noise and then rubs the backs of his hands into his eyes, then sits up. Atsumu isn’t shy—he’s not afraid to cry, but that doesn’t mean he likes people seeing him do it. But it’s Sakusa, and he’d rather own up to it with the most confidence he can muster than have the other call him out on it.

He sniffles, rubs his eyes again, and leans his back into the couch cushion, just a foot away from the other. To his surprise, Sakusa says nothing, just keeps his eyes on the screen.

Atsumu’s lips form into a pout, then he blurts out, “How the hell aren’tcha cryin’?”

Sakusa finally looks at him, eyes wide with a bit of surprise. “I… I’m not judging you for crying, Atsumu.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I just… don’t get emotional enough from films to cry,” Sakusa responds slowly, like he’s picking his words carefully. It sounds a little awkward, and Atsumu has a feeling he’s not used to answering a question like that, not that he really expected one.

“Next time I’ll show you a movie that’ll make ya cry, mark my words,” he says, words coming out with a bit more petulance than he expected. He hugs the pillow tight. Sometime towards the end of the movie, Atsumu had fallen asleep, fatigue overtaking his body. He wasn’t  _ that  _ tired, but he did feel a little drained from all the distress that piled on him from this morning.

When he wakes up, he has a blanket over him, the pillow he had been hugging under his head and shoulders, and Sakusa is nowhere in sight. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and sits up groggily. The apartment is empty, but he can hear a shower running. He tries to guess what time it is by looking at the grey, darkened behind the length of Sakusa’s curtains, because he can’t find his phone anywhere. He slips the blanket up, finds it peeking out between the slot of the couch cushions, and unlocks it.

From: ugly lol

[13:01] where r u

[13:06] ?

[13:19] dude did u die ??????

[14:32] ok lol wtv i get ur pc parts

To: ugly lol

[16:41] lmao sorry i fell asleep also wtf ?? do not take my pc parts i built that shit myself

From: ugly lol

[16:42] damn

[16:42] ur not home where r u

[16:42] didnt u say u were with sakusa

To: ugly lol

[16:42] yeah LMAO i fell asleep here

From: ugly lol

[16:42] like

[16:42] at his place? lol?

To: ugly lol

[16:43] wtv yo im not talkin to u about him

[16:43] might be home late tn tho

From: ugly lol

[16:43] ok

[16:43] dont do anything stupid

To: ugly lol

[16:43] well now im gonna

He hadn’t even noticed the shower cut off when a door squeaks and Sakusa appears from the hallway opening. Atsumu panics and tries to make himself look busy by scrolling through the pages on his home screen, refusing to look up.

“You’re awake,” Sakusa says, in the middle of toweling the back of his head. He pauses briefly, then walks right by him and into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Do you want some tea?”

“A little,” Atsumu responds, feigning sleepiness, “and yeah, sure.” He hears some shuffling behind him, so he turns to take a peek. He watches how Sakusa’s grey  _ Adidas  _ sweatpants sit low on his hips as he heats some water up in his electric kettle, then looks away when Sakusa makes his way back down the hallway. He makes sure Sakusa doesn’t notice the way Atsumu stares at his backside, phone darkened and hugged tight to his chest.

Sakusa has always been attractive, since day one. Atsumu had caught his shoes first, obviously, and then his face second. He had his face mask pulled down to his chin, but Atsumu could see the very noticeable pattern, despite wrinkled, of the Burberry lines. He had noted the moles above his eyebrows, and then the way his hair fell down the sides of his face in loose curls. The back of his head where his fade was looked soft, like he had just gotten a fresh cut earlier that day.

Oh, and his eyes. The same eyes that catch his when Sakusa reappears to finish preparing tea—they were  _ beautiful,  _ even with its harsh lines and jet black gaze. His lashes made him prettier than Atsumu could believe anyone to be, and the way he had looked at him, despite inciting some sort of a challenge in Atsumu, made him feel a little weak in the knees. Tall, brooding, handsome—Sakusa is pretty much the man of most people’s dreams.

Atsumu knows he has it bad now; knows he has fallen a little too deeply when all he can look at are long, pale fingers curled around the ears of two mugs. He tosses two tea bags, still in their packages, on the coffee table next to the steaming water.

“How was your nap?” Sakusa asks, leaning back into the couch. He looks at Atsumu like he has nothing else to look at—the TV isn’t on, he has no idea where Sakusa’s phone is (his pocket, maybe?) and he doesn’t have a book in his hands. Atsumu suddenly feels a little vulnerable.

Atsumu shrugs, as nonchalant as he can be, and reaches forward with a will powerful enough to stop his hands from shaking. “It was all right. Sorry I fell asleep on ya.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Don’t put it in yet, the water’s too hot.”

Atsumu drops the tea bag back on the coffee table, then slowly leans back, a little awkward. “I—”

“You—”

“Oh,” Atsumu interrupts, “sorry, go ahead.”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow, lips pursed, but lets it go, and Atsumu is glad he does. He’s sure he almost said something he would have regretted there. “You said you were hungry. Do you want to go out? Or order something in?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, not really in the mood to go somewhere right now. Let’s just order somethin’.”

Sakusa slips his phone out of his pocket to, probably, order something. A minute of silence later, Sakusa speaks up without lifting his gaze, “You were going to say something?”

Atsumu wets his lips with his tongue. What does he say? Should he just bullshit something? He inhales gently. “I was just gonna say—thanks. For the tea, I mean. And lettin’ me sleep here. I feel kinda bad.”

Sakusa laughs, and Atsumu swears he imagines him shift a little closer, close enough for Atsumu to see what’s on the screen of his phone. “I told you I don’t mind. You were tired. I’m glad you took a nap.”

_ Ah, seriously, if ya keep sayin' stuff like that, I might really just tell ya.  _ Atsumu smiles, a small one, a little bit uncharacteristic of him, and points at something on Sakusa’s phone. “Ramen?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I was just giving suggestions.”

“Well, what do you want?”

Atsumu shifts in his spot. “I’m fine with anything. What do _you_ want?”

“I picked this morning, so now it’s your turn.”

“Okay— _ fine,  _ gimme yer phone.” He holds a palm out, and Sakusa drops his phone into his hand. They scroll through too many restaurants, both of them indecisive. Atsumu swears they spend half an hour going back and forth between different menus.

He groans out, frustrated, “This is hard, Omi. Let’s just—ramen? Let’s just get ramen.”

They end up getting ramen, and just after Atsumu hits order, a text message flashes across the top of Sakusa’s phone. He isn’t one to pry, but he catches his name, and his heart stops.

From: Komori Motoya

[17:27] so ??? how’d it go? are you going to tell miya?

“Omi—”

Sakusa snatches the phone out of his hands. “Don’t read that.”

“Wait, but—”

“It’s nothing. Don’t ask, Atsumu.”

Well, everyone knows that if they tell him not to do something, he’s going to want to do it  _ more,  _ usually out of spite, but this feels a little different. He genuinely wants to know. Sakusa doesn’t tell him much, he thinks, so he  _ has  _ to talk to someone about his problems. Is he a problem?

“Am I bothering you?” Atsumu asks and regrets it immediately. The sinking feeling in his heart isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with, but he doesn’t think he’s felt it like  _ this  _ before. It’s heavier; has more weight to it than he has ever experienced.

“What? No. Of course not. You would never.”

“Then what? Are you going to tell me what?” He’s pushing it now, but he doesn’t know if he really cares anymore. He hunches in on himself a little, fingers playing with the drawstrings of his hoodie because he doesn’t want to look Sakusa in his face. At the very least, if Atsumu did fuck up somewhere, he’d like to know. Whatever it is—it’s not worth sacrificing their friendship for.

Friendship.

“I bought those sneakers,” Sakusa says suddenly, an inkling of vigour behind his words as though he had been holding it in, “from the reseller.”

Atsumu freezes, says nothing.

“I bought them for you. I knew you really wanted them, and I’m sorry we couldn’t get them at retail price, but—consider it a gift, won’t you?”

A small huff of air leaves Atsumu’s mouth, and he meant for it to sound like a laugh, but it comes out nervous and shaky and a bit like a slow exhale. His hands have grown sweaty. Sakusa just told him he had gotten the shoes for him. No, never mind that, Atsumu thinks his heart might explode from the sheer happiness of Sakusa  _ willing  _ to do something like that.

There’s a flush on Sakusa’s face, but the way he looks at Atsumu—terrifyingly unadulterated, like he’s trying to read through Atsumu’s layers; like he’s peeling them back one by one so he can fully understand him until there’s nothing left. And it’s scary to think that Atsumu will let him, no bated breath, no hesitation—no nothing.

There really is no stopping it now, not with the way his heart pounds in his throat, palms sweaty and mouth dry. If there’s another thing everyone knows about Atsumu, it’s the fact that once he commits to something, he needs to see it through.

He’s choosing to commit now.

“Atsumu, I—”

“I—”

Sakusa leans back, eyes a little blown. Atsumu can’t tell if his nervousness is rubbing off on Sakusa, but he needs to go first this time. “I like you,” Atsumu confesses, the most confident he has ever sounded in a really, really long time.

“Atsumu—”

“I know,” Atsumu cuts in, “I know it was really—okay, it was a bit of a spontaneous decision. I wasn’t planning on telling you, just ‘cause I was afraid I would ruin our… whatever we have. But you know, you really like to do these things that make my heart beat faster and,  _ god,  _ ya make me so nervous sometimes, and I just—I came to the realization today that, yeah, I do like you, and I really, _really_ needed to tell you 'cause I thought my heart was gonna pop outta my chest if I didn't.”

And he thinks, maybe, he might have liked Sakusa for an incredibly long time, but just never realized it until now. Atsumu tends to think a lot, but never about the right things, purposely shoving them off to the side so he can accommodate for less meaningful, less stressful thoughts.

Maybe he should have kept his mind on one track, now that he’s looking back on it. Maybe, he thinks, he could have recognized these feelings a little sooner, but would it be the same? What if, at that time, he didn’t  _ truly  _ like Sakusa like this? He would have really fucked things up back then, and Sakusa probably wouldn’t want to be his—

“I can hear you thinking,” Sakusa tells him, voice quieter than what Atsumu is used to, and pulls him out of his thoughts to stare into pretty eyes, the same ones that looked him up and down at their first sneaker meet, except they have a shimmer of hope in there.

“Sorry—are you going to keep asking me that?”

“Maybe. Sometimes I think about what you’re thinking about. I’d rather listen to you talk than keep them all in your head.” They’re so close now. Sakusa is leaned forward, and Atsumu is suddenly aware of how their hands are centimetres apart from each other’s. He wants to reach forward so badly, except Sakusa does it first, fingers closing around the sides of Atsumu’s hands, and he lifts them up and into his lap.

His heart leaps to his throat, and he nearly chokes.

“I like you too, Atsumu.”

“Omi—”

“I’ve liked you for a long time. This will sound silly, but I tried flirting with you back then—”

“Back when?”

“The first day. You came and asked me where my friends were, and I told you I didn’t have any because I just moved here from Canada.”

“You said you were there for university.”

Sakusa laughs lightly. “I did. I did say that. I also thought you were a bit of a brat, and you still are, don’t get me wrong,” he tells him, head dipping to the side as though to reassure himself of his words, then leans back with a roll of his shoulders, “but, who knows? Maybe I’m into it.”

Atsumu still has his hands in Sakusa’s lap. He feels the gentle brush of a thumb over the back of his hand, and is acutely aware of how dry his hands are from the cold winter weather. He gives a slight tug, but gives up when Sakusa refuses to let go, as though he can read Atsumu’s mind.

“It’s okay, Atsumu,” he tells him and, without fail, eases the tension in Atsumu’s shoulders. It’s like every other time Sakusa has told him it’ll be okay, it’s all right, you’re fine. The amount of trust he puts in him chills him to the bones, but Sakusa always seems to mend that over with words that blanket that frigidness.

“I… told Motoya I liked you. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I was supposed to do something. Truthfully, Atsumu, I was nervous too, just as you were.”

It’s so crazy for Atsumu to hear all of this from Sakusa. It’s like he’s giving something precious up. He has never heard him speak so many words at once, and to be incredibly honest about it? Opening his pages up and offering up everything that’ll only leave him vulnerable? It’s now that Atsumu realizes that Sakusa, like him, puts all of his trust in Atsumu’s hands as well—and, honestly? It kind of makes Atsumu want to cry.

“I also didn’t want to let you go. Having you as a friend is better than not having you at all.” Sakusa pauses. “Friend sounds a little awkward.”

Atsumu pipes up immediately.  _ “Right?  _ I thought that too! I never really, like, defined our relationship, or whatever. I just let the days go by, but I also thought callin’ us friends was kinda weird. Sounds weird. Are we friends, Omi?”

“It depends. Do you want to be something else?”

“Hm…” Atsumu hums, pretending to think. “Do you?”

“Boyfriends?” The corners of Sakusa’s eyes crinkle with his grin, and even though he poses the word as a question, Atsumu hears it and deems it incontestable.

“Are you asking me out?”

“I think we decided on staying in tonight.”

“That’s  _ not  _ what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, I was joking.”

Atsumu barks out a laugh, elated. “You? Joking? Damn, I didn’t think ya had it in ya.”

“I can still return those sneakers.”

Atsumu gasps audibly. “Wait, no, I was joking. Yer  _ hilarious,  _ I’m laughing right now—can’t you see me laughing?”

Sakusa leans in, and Atsumu holds his breath. Are they going to kiss? He squeezes his eyes shut, then feels a soft press of lips against his forehead. “Joking,” Sakusa repeats.

Atsumu frowns, lips formed to a pout. “That wasn’t funny.”

Shrugging, he responds, “I thought it was.” He’s leaned back now, head lowered to his phone. “Our food’s here in five minutes. Wait here, I’ll go get it.”

When Sakusa comes back, he suggests they move to the bar counter. Atsumu brings the blanket with him because it’s a little chilly in here, but he’s not going to complain because Sakusa looks godly in a black turtleneck and grey sweats. He lets his eyes drop lower, and he’s caught staring.

Atsumu meets Sakusa’s gaze with an embarrassed rosiness settling under the skin of his cheeks, and he coughs awkwardly to try to save himself a little. “I just… thought you had something there. Dust, or whatever.”

He dares a peek back at him, notices the way one of Sakusa’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, and loves the feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach when he catches a curled lip. “Sure,” is all he gets as Sakusa undoes the knot at the top of the takeout bag.

They eat their ramen while watching BunnyFuFuu make funny plays on his new videos to his previous A-Z URF series. Atsumu laughs and Sakusa snickers over a mouthful of noodles. They clean up while listening to music—this time, Sakusa’s playlist, which surprisingly has some pretty soft R&B.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of Vedo,” Atsumu tells him as they make their way down the hallway and into Sakusa’s bedroom to watch their videos on the TV there. “Or Trey Songz! Like I said, knew you were into some freaky shit.”

Sakusa sighs, a little bit exaggerated, and flops onto his back on his bed. “Some of their songs are good. Shouldn’t it be concerning how hung up you are about where or not I like ‘freaky shit’?”

Atsumu blushes  _ furiously,  _ tremendously thankful for the dim lighting in the room right now. He stands at the foot of the bed, a safe distance away, and doesn’t move, which draws a glance to his direction from the other boy.

“You can… lay down, you know.”

Atsumu takes a seat—plants his butt on top of the comforters with a bounce. “I  _ know,  _ I was just makin' sure.”

“Did you expect to just stand there?”

“Well,  _ no,  _ but—”

Sakusa curls an arm around Atsumu’s middle and pulls him back into his bed. He doesn’t move his arm off him; doesn’t move at all, but stares into his eyes the same way he had back on his couch, when Atsumu was still stumbling over some of his words.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Atsumu asks, voice smaller than he anticipated.

Sakusa grins. “Will you let me?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely—”

He’s cut off with a press of lips against his own, and Atsumu opens up easily, as though he has been waiting all his life for this moment. Sakusa kisses him like he wants to devour him, sucking and nibbling and teeth over tongue, tongue over tongue; kisses him like he breathes him, like he wants him and needs him and  _ loves  _ him.

Atsumu lets out a small whimper, having missed so much how it feels to be held, especially by someone like  _ Sakusa,  _ and loops his arms behind his neck. His hair is still a little damp from the shower he had taken earlier, but Atsumu loves the feeling of it between his fingers. He tugs gently, feels the vibration of a groan against his mouth, and pulls away, breathless.

“Omi,” he whispers, flickering between two dark orbs like he doesn’t know which one to look at, and says again,  _ “Omi.” _

And then Sakusa is kissing him once more like he  _ knows.  _ He presses Atsumu into his sheets and kisses every inch of his skin, laughs when Atsumu giggles at how ticklish it feels, moans when Atsumu pulls him closer and breathes out  _ more  _ into his ear, and catches his lips again. He has no complaints when Sakusa flips the covers off of them and demands a shower, mind a little dazed with a euphoric high and skin glowing with vitality.

“I can’t believe you actually got me those shoes,” Atsumu says, voice soft when he lets out a shy laugh. They climb under the comforters afterward. “Ya didn’t have to. I would have survived without ‘em.”

Sakusa hums against his chest, fingers drawing lines over a bruise he had sucked into Atsumu’s abdomen earlier. “I wanted to. It made you happy.”

“Was it expensive?”

“No,” Sakusa says, but Atsumu knows he’s lying. Of course they were expensive. Atsumu had not been the only person waiting for that drop, and it was one of the most looked-forward-to of 2021, but he doesn’t say anything else. He cuddles Sakusa closer, fingers weaving through his hair as they shiver over Stephanie Soo’s spooky mukbang stories. Atsumu, sometime through, had lost track of it, eyes too focused on the sparse moles across the expanse of the smooth, pearly skin of Sakusa’s back, warmly illuminated by the gentle glow of his bedside table lamp, to really keep his eyes on the subtitles.

“Can you understand her?” he asks.

Sakusa hums again, and Atsumu has a feeling he does that often when he’s tired. “No. Canadians don’t speak English.”

Atsumu pauses, fingers stopping their tracing movements over Sakusa’s spine. “Yer jokin’.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I toldja yer not funny! Thank godja have me. Yer humour’s dead.”

They get a little bored of mukbang videos, so they switch to a Studio Ghibli film instead. Sakusa falls asleep not even halfway through Howl’s Moving Castle, but Atsumu doesn’t mind, not even a little bit. He slinks back a little further so that his head is rested on the pillow, and Sakusa moves just a little higher so he has his face pressed into Atsumu’s neck, nose brushing along the skin there.

Somewhere beside him, Atsumu feels his phone buzz.

From: ugly lol

[22:57] take it ur not coming home?

To: ugly lol

[22:57] nah

[22:57] spending the night

From: ugly lol

[22:57] oh shit no way rly?

To: ugly lol

[22:57] yea

[22:57] think i got myself a bf named omi-kun :P

From: ugly lol

[22:58] ew lol ok goodnight tell me tmr

Atsumu makes sure to send five hearts and a middle finger emoji to his brother before adding a quick goodnight, then tosses it to the side so he can get back to admiring the curve of Sakusa’s shoulder, the slope of his back, and the pointed tips of his ear. He remembers picking on Sakusa for it just for the sake of getting a bit of a reaction out of him during their first meet. He hadn’t exactly gotten the reaction he wanted, but he couldn't say he wasn't satisfied when he noticed the slight pink in Sakusa’s cheeks.

He wonders if Sakusa still wears his Nike Lebron 7s, because Atsumu still does, sometimes. He has a good feeling neither of them will really mind wearing the same shoes anymore.

He lets his hand ghost over the bareness of Sakusa’s back again, ticklish if not for the fact that he’s currently asleep right now, and thinks about them getting matching  _ Stussy  _ bucket hats. If they’re lucky, they might find another reseller for those shoes Atsumu agonized over this morning, in Sakusa’s size, of course. He turns his head to the side and catches the glimpse of the Nike Lebron 7s on the floor of Sakusa’s closet, halfway open, sitting on top of their original box.

Atsumu presses a kiss into the curls on Sakusa’s head. They sure aren’t in mint condition anymore, but he imagines Sakusa won’t be selling them anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to day 3 of sakuatsu fluff week 2021! 
> 
> i originally had something else written for this but i didn't like it, so i rewrote it ALL yesterday !! i like how it came out tho so i can't complain LMAOO anyways! sneakerheads sakuatsu mmmmMMmm i would DIE for them
> 
> was super excited to post this !! drop a comment if you'd like (i love love LOVE reading everyone's comments they make me so happy a aa) and give me a quick follow on my [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) if ur lookin for a friend or mutual or someone to talk sakuatsu brainrot with LMAO
> 
> check out day one [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438676) !! (teen & up, implicit sexual content, completed w 9.5k words)  
> check out day two [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472066/chapters/72395376) !! (18+, explicit sexual content, updates on mondays)


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